The Gardner

So, this poem is too wide for the sidebar, and since my book review blog is for books and not poems (though I just wrote a review on an anthology of poems, which is not the same thing-haha), I decided to write it out here for you all to read. It struck me. Though, I do wish that there were more poems written from women to men. I've hardly seen any of those. I wonder why?


The Gardner, by Rabindranath Tagore

Your questioning eyes are sad. They seek to know my
meaning as the moon would fathom the sea.
I have bared my life before your eyes from end to end,
with nothing hidden or held back. That is why you know
me not.
If it were only a gem, I could break it into a hundred
pieces and string them into a chain to put on your neck.
If it were only a flower, round and small and sweet, I could
pluck it from its stem to set it in your hair.
But it is a heart, my beloved. Where are its shores and its
bottom?
You know not the limits of this kingdom, still you are its
queen.
If it were only a moment of pleasure it would flower in an
easy smile, and you could see it and read it in a moment.
If it were merely a pain it would melt in limpid tears,
reflecting its inmost secret without a word.
But it is love, my beloved.
Its pleasure and pain are boundless, and endless its wants
and wealth.
It is as near to you as your life, but you can never wholly
know it.